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As the Underwood Burns

James never made it home. 

There’d never been much to mourn over anyway: narrow and unstable roads along every streetway, rundown stores left to rot in debt, fallen leaves that crunched beneath his feet, echoes of children laughing while he remained inside. A town hidden from a world he yearned to explore – a haven he’d wished would exile him.

It was home, yet never really was at all. It was home, but the hole in his heart still ached. Never had he been complacent, nor content with how easily he’d memorised every streetway. What had belonged to him was easily forgotten – maybe it had never been his.

But what did this mean for his friends?

Well, they were here now. Beside each other, they huddled around the burning wood, its glow beaming within the foliage that confined them. Though this foliage made the Underwood so mesmerising, its beauty in the daylight was unmatched. It hypnotised them, made them wander further into the mirage. The meaning of home was consequently blurred, as though this had been their home all along. Its darkest hours, however, made James doubtful: bird songs bellowed tunelessly, tree branches reached out like fingers yearning to snatch him away, weeds itched his ankles and wished to stick and blend his body into the greenery. 

But his friends were here, and, fleetingly, his cheeks ached from smiling. 

Their jokes were humorous; their stories held meaning; their acknowledgments of him were genuine. While the embers before him were bright, the presence of his companions felt like summer. The Underwood seemed brighter, the moon watching over them with its illuminated spotlight. 

Their voices, all on top of one another, morphed into music, playing just for James, and he grinned as he listened to every word:

“Why couldn’t we do something indoors?”

“Do you reckon that monster could actually be real?”

“What happens if we get lost?”

“Ooh! We should go searching for it! Surely it can’t be too far.”

“Do you guys ever shut up?”

It was their usual banter, but to James it was all he could ever yearn for. 

Their voices contrasted with the peaceful resonance of the Underwood: the hum of foreign insects, the flow of lake water– the snap of a twig!

However, when James turned to look, his friends’ laughter quickly filled his ears, and suddenly the strange noise wasn’t so scary anymore. None of this world was ever scary when they were around. Together, the Underwood belonged to them. The greenery was their kingdom, their empire.  

He sat there, admiring each of them, while adventures from a distant past were recollected: the monsters that lurked within the trees, the hidden pathways that led to unknown territories, the pools of water hidden between the highlands. No space of land nor cell of life had remained obscure. Yet the knowledge that unbeknown realms were still awaiting discovery made James believe he’d ascended to Paradise. Home was a faraway land. Here, the world had always been waiting for them.

Despite its perils, James sensed the Underwood’s benign presence, the heat of the flames now lightly stinging his face. Never had he felt so warm. 

If only that light would burn forever.  

However, it was merely a flicker, and his face wasn’t warm for long. Slowly, the Underwood consumed him. He was surrounded by shadows. Branches encased him with their bony-shaped fingers. The fire had never been enough, the gooseflesh on his skin more prominent than ever. The smoke had slowly filled his lungs, and he tried to subside a cough that would send the most outlandish predators straight to a glorious feast of youthful flesh. The creak of bugs echoed, the moonlight now hidden by the trees, entrenching him in darkness.    

But his friends were here. He was safe. They would never leave him all alone.

Yet, if they had cared so much, why did they?

Their voices now sounded distant, slowly fading while the shuffle of their belongings pained his ears. He tried to make them out within the darkness, but the silence was loud again – as if it had never momentarily left. 

Once colossal, James now felt like the smallest prey within the Underwood’s domain, the light completely gone, his heart shattered. 

Suddenly home sounded quite nice again, compared to this neverending venture within the greenery. Mum wasn’t here to hold him; Dad wasn’t around to protect him; his older brother couldn’t guide him. What did that even feel like? 

So when James found home, he was never really the same. However, the greenery was still comfortable, despite the cold – the seclusion. Here he had all he could ever want, what he’d always wanted, despite the expense. But never had he felt so warm. 

No one knew why; no one would ever know why. It was as though nothing had changed. His absence had never made a difference. 

Exiled he was, yet home had always been waiting for him.

Mary Elizabeth

The author Mary Elizabeth

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